A fashion clueless struggling in Paris. The world is attracted to the light of this city,and me to the history, but the shadow beneath her reveals herself to you eventually. The Parisians are forged thus so attractive is their culture. Why ‘the third red apple?’ A hint maybe in the page available in English and French.

Wednesday, 14 December 2016

The true horror stories in Paris-Part 9

Mr. A. returned to his apartment feeling much
relieved that his talk with Leila went cordially. He would at last have peace and quiet after this
night. He put on his kettle to make
himself a cupper…then his hand stopped.
That blasted grounding noise started above his head. Leila had turned on her washing machine as
soon as he had left. ‘Oh, maybe she just
needs to do one lot because she could not help it that she came home after
19:00…’ Mr. A. tried to explain Leila to
himself, but she could have set the timer on her machine so that it would wash
during the normal hours of the following day.

The machine got louder as it reached the
final spinning stage. Because of the thin
walls and ceiling in Paris’ old buildings, it felt as if he was inside the
spinning machine with his guts being oppressed.
Mr. A held on waiting for the final bang. It came and the quiet that followed relaxed
his muscles. Mr. A sighed. It was nearly 22:00. But wait…Leila re-started the washing cycle
immediately.

Mr. A felt his blood pressure rising. He had told Leila that he was taking
medication for his high blood pressure, that he needed peace and quiet at
night. She was very sympathetic about it
and eagerly listened on. This behavior
did not make sense to him because he was a genuinely sympathetic man himself and
could not imagine that some people thrived on other people’s misfortune. Up to this point her washing was just
anti-social behavior, brought about by her obvious ill upbringing, but now she
has been informed that it stresses Mr. A., both mentally AND physically.

The washing finally stopped after
01:00. Mr. A. was suffering from mild
palpation but the much craved silence gradually turned him drowsy.

The poor man was woken up by the grounding
noise again. It was 02:00 in the
morning. Leila knew her game. She must have observed misery in the others
and learnt by now that giving her victims a pause makes the following strike
more potent. Mr. A. felt his chest
squeezed and passed out. He made a
futile effort to knock on the ceiling, but he slid off the ladder from the shaking
limbs. His memory ends there.

He had lost some sense in his tongue when
he woke up later. To be continued.